


Don't You Ever Forget About Me

by awwcoffeenooooo



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Daisy is the best wifey of a friend, F/M, Mild Fluff, One Night Stands, Unplanned Pregnancy, at the end, bioquake brotp, but there's, ill just stop now, sort of??, yet another angst preggo fic from yours truly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 16:37:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12280356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awwcoffeenooooo/pseuds/awwcoffeenooooo
Summary: She's always been told love makes a person illogical. Clearly she is no exception.





	Don't You Ever Forget About Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amazingjemma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amazingjemma/gifts).



> This fic is for my lovely cheerleader of a friend Ole <3 I really hope you like the spin I put on your prompt :) Love you, fork 
> 
> There are so many musical influences that went into writing this that I don't know where to start, but I think I'll just say Pierce The Veil and Sleeping With Sirens were huge drivers. (Angst, people. Nothing like listening to guys breaking down crying over loved ones to drive a story). So it shouldn't be a huge surprise that the title of this is from the SWS song of the same name.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

 

 

_"The hardest thing I'd ever do_  
_Is say goodbye_  
 _and walk slowly away from you_  
 _But I'll do it_  
 _And after all this time I shared with you_  
 _It seems unfair to leave with_  
 _nothing more than blank stares_  
 _But I'll do it_  
 _If it's for the best then I wish you well_  
 _If it helps to say our life was a living hell_  
 _Well then do it_  
 _Then do it,"_

  
_\-- Don't You Ever Forget About Me,_   
_Sleeping With Sirens_

* * *

 

She's shaking.

Her hands are cold and her knuckles white, and yet it's her whole body that's shaking like a leaf. Because really, this shouldn't be happening. _None_ of this should have happened.

A hand presses against her mouth, and slowly she moves to sit against the shower wall. The water continues falling around her, as hot as she can stand it. Lately it's been the only way she can feel anything. But now . . . oh, now she can feel everything.

The water muffles her sobs.

It's no fair. Nothing quite is, though, she's come to find. Every little thread ties back in to such a large complicated web of pain and regrets and scars. And somehow, caught in the thick of it yet again, she finds herself.

She can tug on a single thread and find where everything all started. To trace back to the beginning, the very start of what she thinks is life itself.

The day the boy with the big blue eyes was left staring up at her in front of their lab bench.

And to come back to now, to the mess that had once been something so pure and innocent -- _inseparable_ , her mind echoed. It only led to a deeper tear in her chest.

_God, what am I going to do?_

Her fingers carefully turn over the little test in her hand, willing the now icy water to wash away the two little pink lines.

* * *

 

Jemma remembers a lot of things.

She remembers too much, even. The sand striking her face like little shards of glass, digging as if to get under her skin. Will, holding her as if she was the only thing that mattered, and yet it all feeling so _wrong_. Glowing light, cracks in the wall.

But then there is Fitz. There is the feel of his hands, grasping desperately over her body, pulling her to him so strongly yet so gentle. His lips, tongue trailing around the pulse of her neck, his breath wet and warm in her ear. The weight of him moving atop her, hips against hers, and his voice.

Her breath shuddered in her chest. The little praises against her skin, the way her name rolled with his brogue. Those damned eyes peeking up at her, _loving_ her.

She pushes these away, pulling a hoodie over her head. She knows what comes next. It always does.

The sharp pull away from her, pulling his clothes back on as if nothing had happened. Inability to meet her eyes, lips kiss swollen and cheeks red.

The sharp reminder that they were over.

They could never be a _they_.

She'd destroyed that. Will, and the planet, and her return. It's only been eight weeks since then. Six since their tryst, but really that's the only count that matters. Everything else can blur by, except for the fact that it has been exactly forty three days since her last stolen kiss.

Her fingers trace over her mouth even now, remembering that jolt of contact. The spark of electricity. That feeling that she'd read of and dismissed at once, because electric kisses were something out of a fairytale or a drugstore romance novel.

But she had tasted that feeling, had craved it.

She knows can't have it again, however. That's left in the past, with TV nights and cuddles and that platonic affection that had become much the opposite.

All she has left from those nights, from that life, is this hoodie.

It still smells like him in some ways. The slight musk and sharp strike of cologne. It smells like home, however faded it is.

_Well, perhaps not the only thing._

Her hands tighten inside the pockets of his hoodie.

Logically, she knows this isn't time. She's not safe, not stable. Her body is still healing from the trauma of being flung into another solar system. And that's not to mention her mental state.

An abortion is the obvious, logical choice. To wipe away the remnants of a single mistaken night and move on with her life. With _their_ lives.

But the more the night turns into day, the daylight into days, she knows she can't.

She's always been told love makes a person illogical. Clearly she is no exception.

She knows, somehow, that this is a gift. Her and Fitz . . . they're over. Nothing could possibly repair that. But this little clump of cells, a spark of hope that maybe there could still be good to come of it.

A child, a bit of each of them, laughing and running and growing. Harmless experiments and tiny lab coats. Smiles and laughter and happiness, perhaps for the first time since she can remember. 

But Fitz wouldn't be there. He _couldn't_. If he couldn't even stand to look at her, then what about the baby she was carrying? How would he react then?

No, Jemma decides. She can't do that to him. To make him suffer through her presence for a child that he wouldn't abandon simply because that was how he was. Her chest aches because she knows that if Fitz knew about them, he would insist on staying and helping. But he can't. She can't let him. There's too much unspoken, too much hurt to see him everyday. She's barely getting by as it is. To raise a child with him? She knows it's not feasible.

So the little thing stays a secret under layers of sweaters and sweatshirts.

* * *

 

They pass each other in the lab. It's necessary, seeing as how their schedules overlap.

Her eyes will flick over him, over the sandy stubble of his cheeks and the light curl in his hair. Over the soft palette of his shirts and the gentle restlessness of his hands.

And then she continues with her work, trying to keep her eyes from stinging at what she's hiding from him.

 

* * *

 

It's only a matter of weeks before Jemma finds herself outside Daisy's door, mugs of cocoa in her hands. It's the guilt that's been eating at her, burning like acid in her stomach, and she thinks if she keeps it in much longer she'll be physically sick.

Daisy lets her in immediately, of course, confused but welcoming. "Simmons?" she asks softly, letting the door slip shut behind them and gently taking the mugs from the scientist's hands. They're shaking. Daisy's dark worried eyes dart up to hers, and Jemma lets out a sniff.

"I think I just need a hug." she whispers, looking up and trying to will the tears away.

Daisy drops the cups on her end table, moving to tug the older girl into an embrace. Jemma shudders, hands covered by too long sweater sleeves, and drops her forehead to the Inhuman's shoulder.

"Hey, hey," she murmurs, rubbing circles into her back. "I've got you."

For a few moments, it's simply a quiet show of hurt and comfort. There's poor confused Daisy, holding her, somehow just _knowing_ that the smaller woman simply needs quiet and care.

Jemma finally is able to pull herself together, allowing herself to be guided to the bed as Daisy passes her a tissue.

"It's Fitz," she manages, cheeks smeared with tears and the mascara she'd taken a chance on earlier. She only regrets it now.

Daisy nods, already knowing it had to have been something along those lines. "Okay. Do I need to . . . talk to him about it?"

"No!" Jemma bursts out, panic in her chest. "No, you can't tell him anything,"

Her brow furrows, but she nods. "Okay. You can trust me, if that's what you need right now. Or a shoulder to cry on," she tries for a grin. "I'm told I have very nice shoulders,"

Jemma barely manages a smile, but it's there, ever so faint. "It's a long story,"

"And I'm not going anywhere,"

Jemma chuckles softly, but it feels painful on her lips. Daisy reaches for her hand, gently taking it and rubbing patterns into her palm.

"It started about . . . eleven weeks ago?" she murmurs, feigning nonchalance despite herself. "Fitz was . . . he was in my room. We were watching Doctor Who and trying to sort out the whole portal mess with Will."

Daisy's eyes darken, but she nods for Jemma to continue.

"I broke down crying," she blurts out. "And Fitz comforted me." Her face crinkles as she thinks, as if forcing herself to speak the next sentence. "I think he was trying to . . . to kiss my cheek. But I turned and he -- he kissed me."

A soft "oh" escapes Daisy's lips. "And you . . . liked it?" She tries for a reassuring smile.

She shakes her head slightly, smiling. "It wasn't just a kiss, Daisy," she breathes, voice breaking. "I . . . I slept with him,"

"Holy _shit_ , Simmons," she says all in one exhale, voice low.

"But after we . . . well, after, he just . . ." Daisy passes her another Kleenex. "He just _left_ , Daisy. Like I was nothing. Like what we had just done didn't even matter,"

Daisy doesn't do anything but hug her, pulling her tight against her body once more. "I'm so sorry, Jemma. But maybe . . . maybe you should talk to him."

"I can't," she near sobs, pressing a tissue to her nose. "I  _can't_ talk to him. Because talking to him means telling him that I'm --"

She cuts herself off, sucking in a shuddering breath. "-- that I'm pregnant,"

Daisy freezes next to her, everything seeming to stop. Even her chest pauses in her steady breathing.

It's somewhat cathartic to say it out loud. Almost as if a confirmation, but all at once like the final drop of a gavel.

"Fuck," she breathes. "Okay, well . . . _shit_ , haven't either of you heard of protection?"

"I was on protection," Jemma whispered. "But the stress after getting back . . . I know I missed some doses,"

"Okay," Daisy runs a hand through her hair. "Okay, how do you feel about this?"

"Terrified,"

There's not even an instant of hesitation, and Jemma's eyes drop to her hands. "I'm scared."

Daisy blows out a breath. "Hell, I think that's a given. But . . . what else?"

Jemma shakes her head, looking up toward the ceiling. "I really can't feel anything beyond that. And guilt. Definitely guilt. But I can't . . .I can't tell him. He can hardly stand to look at me, let alone at a child that he never planned for, birthed by the woman he hates beyond reason,"

"Fitz could never hate you, Simmons. He's hurt, yeah, but he could never hate you." Daisy shrugs, taking their discarded mugs and passing one to her friend. Jemma takes a sip; it's lukewarm.

"It's never been like this, Daisy," Jemma sighs, taking another drink. "You've always said we were psychically linked. Trust me on this,"

Daisy has a disbelieving glint in her eyes, but she nods nonetheless. "Okay, so he hates you, wants nothing to do with you or the baby. Where does that leave you? What do you want to do?"

"I've been considering . . . options," Jemma mumbles, tossing her used kleenex toward the waste bin. "But I know I couldn't ever get rid of it. This is like my last piece of him. Just . . . a spark of hope."

"I know," Daisy lays her hand on Simmons' knee. "So you're keeping it?"

"Yes," Jemma haltingly nods. "I suppose I am,"

Daisy pulls her into a side squeeze, careful not to slosh their cocoa too much. "Alright. Then I suppose . . . it's not too early to plan?"

* * *

 

When her cases are packed, the leaves are just beginning to curl and dry.

There's a slip of paper with an apartment's address scrawled on it. Two bedroom, safe neighborhood, good school district. It's in some ways a parent's dream, but she still feels hollow.

She takes a single, cursory glance over her room. Her eyes linger longest on her bed, a bittersweet taste in her mouth. It had all started and ended there. Something like fall, she supposed. The old would fade away, but there was always the promise of spring.

Her boxes already in a waiting car in the hanger, she doesn't need to grab anything save her bag. Jemma nods one final time, then allows the door to shut on that phase of her life.

She's only taken a few steps away from her door, up the hall, when she freezes at the sight of him.

He's wearing blue today. The same color he'd been wearing that night. She can very vividly remember undoing every button from the top down.

His eyes are wide, taking in the sight of her parka and scarf, but then there's that flash of recognition. It wouldn't take a genius to put two and two together, and he is just that.

Fitz's lips purse, but he nods, hands in pockets as he looks down. He's so close she could run the few yards or so and sweep him up in a hug and whisper that he's going to be a father and that she'll love him, baby or not.

But he offers her a watery smile, so out of place on him, and turns toward the lab. "Goodbye, Jemma,"

She catches him swiping at a tear as he walks away, but she feels so hollow inside she can't even tear.

"Goodbye, Fitz,"

* * *

 

Her apartment is nice.

There's a little breakfast nook next to the kitchen, and bookshelves built around where a TV should sit. There's room for a little toddler to run and play, and even a small park just outside in the courtyard.

Jemma doesn't feel like decorating, though. So she makes her bed and a cup of tea for company, and lays in bed for awhile. It feels ever so strange to be doing nothing. At the base, there was always a constant buzz in the back of her mind to be ready for anything.

But there is none of that here. It's just her and her baby, however small that may be.

She pins the picture of them on the wall. It was Peru, in front of the temple. She smiles at the memory. They had been so young and naïve. So _happy_ . . .

* * *

  
Daisy comes over regularly to escort Jemma to her appointments. She never mentions Fitz, but Jemma can see it all lying beneath the surface. She can't blame her. It has to be hard to see two friends split so far apart.

They shop, sometimes. Little onesies, boots. Hats and bibs and nursing cloths. Maternity wear once Jemma's jeans don't care to button anymore. It's all so domestic that Jemma surprises Daisy with a "world's best wife" mug. The inhuman laughs, but Jemma catches the small sweep of sadness across her face.

Through it all there's a dull ache in her chest, no matter how happy she sometimes feels. It's the steady reminder that if she hadn't been so scared of her best friend then he would be here with her, shopping for printed blankets and cribs. Maybe he'd hold her hand. Maybe he wouldn't be just her best friend.

* * *

 

"I know this is a lot to ask and all," Jemma starts, stirring a spoonful of cream into her tea. "But I want you to be there for the birth,"

Daisy's eyes flick up from her scone to catch Jemma's gaze, pulling her from watching the rain drizzle down the glass. "Of course. I'm not going to let you push a watermelon out of your bits all on your own,"

Jemma chuckles at that, rubbing a hand over her stomach. "I think it's more of a one person job, but I'd still be more than thankful to have you there,"

Daisy shakes her head. "No, I've seen the videos. You may be tearing up your crotch, but I'm going to be the one with the broken fingers."

Jemma rolls her eyes at that, taking a sip of tea. "We'll see about that,"

* * *

 

The second bedroom remains untouched despite Daisy's protests. Jemma can't bring herself to paint or cover it with baby things.

It's always something she imagined Fitz would do, covering every inch with detail. He would be so happy, and maybe he'd get paint on her, and he'd kiss her like in those old movies.

But it won't ever happen. He's moved on, and she has too, in a way.

But she know's that's a lie, no matter what she tries to tell herself. She won't ever be over him. He'd taken her in and messed her up, and she was truly ruined for anyone else. There had only ever been room in her heart for him.

* * *

 

She's only a little over thirty-seven weeks along when her water breaks.

Jemma calls Daisy in near hysterics, already at the hospital. She's dressing in a gown, so loose in every area but her midsection.

And she's crying because it's too early, there's still too much to be done, like assemble the crib and fold and wash the blankets and make sure there are enough diapers. She isn't ready. Her _baby_ isn't ready.

Her mind runs a mile a minute, thinking over each and every book she'd ever read. The defects, the complications, issues with delivery. Still birth. Her hand covers her eyes at the last, and she breathes in harshly.

* * *

 

"Fitz, I need to talk to you."

He looks up from his tablet, clicking off at the sober expression on Daisy's face. "Yeah?"

She bites her lip. "It's Jemma."

His jaw sets in place, a hurt look in his eyes. "What about her?"

"She's . . ." hesitating, Daisy tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "She's in the hospital, Fitz,"

There's a split second of _nothing_ , but then Fitz is standing and shouting at the lab techs. He's tossing his tablet on the bench and pulling his coat from the back of his chair, and he nods at Daisy. "Okay. Where to?"

* * *

 

It hurts. _Oh god_ , it hurts. It feels like her insides are being ripped up and pulled tight over and over, and hell if she doesn't want to scream.

There's a shuffle of movement by the curtain leading into her room that momentarily distracts her, but then another rolling wave pulls her under.

Her eyes open to see Fitz, staring at her in shock from the end of the room. Daisy's on her other side, taking her hand and pushing strands of hair back from her face.

"F-Fitz . . . " she manages, feeling sweat bead on her forehead.

He's at her side in an instant, blue eyes wide with fear and worry and confusion. But he's there, and he's holding her hand, and he's trying not to look at her belly. She tries to give him a smile, but it's overwhelmed by the sheer pain of a contraction.

It passes, and once it does, she's left staring up into his face. There are unshed tears in his eyes, and blinks once, willing them away.

"Hi, Fitz," she can't even bring herself to be mad at Daisy right now, who seemed to have disappeared. Instead, she's caught in how warm his palms are and how blue his eyes are.

"I'm pregnant,"

He chuckles at that, barely holding back tears, and nods. "Yeah, I can see that." He sniffs. "But not for much longer, hm?"

"No, not with any . . ." her breath catches in her throat. She breathes tightly over the wave, scrunching her face up. ". . . any luck,"

Finally, hands fisted in the sheets, she can bring herself to look directly at Fitz. She pushes herself up as best she can, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. "I'm so sorry, Fitz," she sniffs, eyes watery from a mix of pain and emotions. "But please don't leave me,"

His lips pull tight, and she thinks her stomach may twist underneath all the contractions. "I'm not leaving, okay? I'm staying right here, as long as you'll let me,"

* * *

 

It's nearly six hours later when a squirming, screaming wet baby is placed on Jemma's naked chest. Fitz carefully covers her with a blanket as per the nurse's instruction, and Jemma cradles the little damp head with a careful hand.

"She has your hair," Fitz whispers, reverent.

Jemma bites back the tears, this time of joy, and she nods. "She's beautiful,"

Daisy is still nowhere to be found, but Fitz is here, and he's watching their daughter's tiny fist curl around his thumb, and somehow that outweighs any other possible outcome.

Fitz seems to quiet after Jemma gently coaxes the infant to latch to her breast, and once she's able to glance over at him carefully, her heart falls. He's sunken back into himself, eyes hurt and steely, and she can distantly see his palm quivering.

"I am sorry, Fitz," she whispers, ignoring the heavy weight of exhaustion in her bones. "I never meant for this to . . ." she gestures vaguely at the space between them.

He offers her a small smile, but it's little consolation. "It's alright. I've done the maths, Jemma. I think that . . . I think that I would have done the same thing in your position. It wasn't an easy decision you made, but I just want to know . . . why?" he swallows thickly, running a knuckle over his lips. "I would have helped you. I would have helped raise her -- I still will. For him,"

Her eyes widen, and she swears she can feel her blood freeze in her veins. "Fitz . . ." he raises his gaze from the floor, meeting her eyes, and she steels herself for a moment. "the baby . . . she's yours,"

"Jemma, she can't -- the dates . . ." he stutters for a moment, running fingers through his hair.

Her free hand catches his wrist. "She's two weeks early, Fitz. Will and I . . . we never . . ." she shakes her head, unable to finish.

Fitz puts his head in his hands; Jemma can see his chest shaking. "God I never . . . _fuck_."

"Hey," she murmurs, reaching to take his fingers. The baby snuffles against her chest, but otherwise makes no movement. "It's okay, Fitz. We're okay,"

He shakes his head, but nevertheless allows her fingers to tangle with his. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have left you that night, I shouldn't have been such a prick. And I let you leave without trying to fight . . . you had to do this _alone_ , Jemma."

She lets out a small laugh. "Not alone. I had Daisy. And I . . . I can't blame you for leaving. I know you don't feel the same way." her throat tightens at finally saying the words out loud, but she persists.

"Jemma, no," he nearly laughs, but it's a bitter sound. "God, I _love_ you, but I thought . . . I thought you were still hung up on Will,"

Jemma stares at him, incredulous. "Will? You think I -- you think I would choose Will over you?"

The baby stirs at that, letting out a tiny wail and releasing Jemma in the process. The new mother scrambles for a moment, torn between soothing words and an attempt to lift the tiny body to her shoulder.

A nurse appears out of nowhere, and it's only a matter of gentle instruction before the three are left alone again. Jemma looks down at the little thing in her arms, eyes soft. She can hear her daughter's tiny breaths as she sleeps, and it's such a quiet moment she hates to ruin it.

"You don't have to say you love me, Fitz," she whispers. "If you want to be part of her life, that's fine. But you don't need to act to get there,"

"Jemma," Fitz says, and it's with such a stern voice she has to tear her vision from the baby bundle. "I would love to be a part of her life. More than anything." He pauses, swallowing tightly. His fingers tap restlessly against his knee. "But I think that what I want even more is to be a part of your life, too,"

His face smiles up at her, warily, but also with so much hope, and despite her exhaustion from the birth, she can't help but return it. "I think I'd like that, too,"

Fitz's fingers reach for her, only to tuck a lock of hair behind her shoulder. He places a kiss there, gaze never leaving hers.

"But first, I just . . . I need to understand what happened between us that night." Jemma bites her lip, wincing as she tries to rearrange her legs beneath the sheets.

He sighs, looking away, down to the checkered floor. His posture is relieved, but there's still that tension around the shoulders that lets her know he's nervous.

"I thought you chose him," he exhales. "I was . . . I told you I loved you."

Her mind flashes back to that single night, Fitz's gasps and whispered words. Her cheeks nearly flush at the memory, but that's when she realizes. He's been whispering those three little words against her skin. How had she missed it? She'd played that evening over in her head hundreds of times, committing every little detail to memory.

"Oh, Fitz," she sighs, feeling the hormonal high she'd been on beginning to falter. She slumps back further into the sheets. "I feel so horrible."

He shakes his head, sniffing. "No, you shouldn't. I guess . . . I guess I must not have made it clear enough."

"Would you mind if I made it terribly clear now?"

Fitz, startled, jerks up to her hopeful expression. Cautiously, he places a hand on the bed.

"I'm in love with you, Leopold Fitz," she says simply, hand moving to cover his. "I always have been, in some way. I loved you as a teenager, and I love you now. It may have taken me ten years and a baby to realize it, but I'm saying it now, and I think that has to count for something,"

Fitz's lips purse, and he flips his hand so he can squeeze her own palm. "And I love you, Jemma. Please don't let me be mistaken this time,"

She lets out a little noise, tugging on his hand to bring him closer to her.

Jemma kisses him soundly, chapped lips and all. It's so much different from their shared night, so much more meaning and understanding building up to a fever pitch.

His eyes open to hers, and gently she takes that as an invitation to tilt her forehead against his. Fitz bumps his nose up to hers, and she lets out a small laugh.

Their daughter squirms beneath her blankets, and Fitz leans back to give her space to blearily blink up into Jemma's face. Her eyes are a silvery gray, but Jemma knows that they will turn to their natural color in time.

A yawn rises up in her chest, and Jemma turns to hide her face from Fitz. They still have so much to talk about, to figure out. They've just barely scratched the surface.

But he knows anyway, and he squeezes her arm gently. "Hey, you need to rest,"

"No, no. I'm fine, Fitz. Really," she blinks, trying to clear the tired mist from her eyes.

"Rest," he smiles gently, running a finger over her hair. "I'll be here when you wake up, okay?"

Her energy's been drained for awhile, but it's only now that she nods, letting her head drop back to the pillow. She nods her chin toward the baby, gently shifting her.

"Here, take her,"

He stops for a moment, stilling at the sight of the red little face peeking out from the blankets. "Are . . . Are you sure?"

"That her daddy can look after her?" she offers a tired grin. "Yes, I'm quite sure,"

Gently, she shows Fitz how to support her head and bum, cradling her tiny form in his arms. She squirms and whines, but once she's settled, she lets out a yawn from between pink lips, and settles back to sleep.

Fitz face is a mixture of joy and nervousness, but Jemma pats his hand. "Take her to meet her Aunt Daisy?"

Fitz nods, seemingly speechless. "Yeah," he turns to move toward the door, but pauses. Carefully, keeping an eye on the baby the whole time, he pads back to Jemma and places a kiss on her forehead. "I love you,"

She beams up at him. "I love you too,"

 

 

* * *

 

It's many months later, after countless late nights and dirty diapers and stolen cups of tea, that Jemma finds herself in a dress facing Fitz across a candle lit table.

They're both tired. Having a teething infant will do that to you, though, she supposes. But they're here, and her face hurts from smiling, so perhaps that's a small price to pay.

It's a night that's been long in the making. There have been numerous conversations about themselves and their future and what went wrong, and for all the fearful admissions and tears they're the better for it. It's led them to this, a first proper date, with wine that Jemma will feel guilty about later and a tie that Fitz hasn't quite been able to remaster tying yet.

But they're here, and they have a daughter to go home to, and that is more than she could have asked for.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> There's at least one plot hole in here, which you may be able to point out. Typically any baby born three weeks before a given due date is premature, so you could imagine baby FitzSimmons is quite the tiny thing. Depending on each case, some infants have to be cared for in an incubator, but some are fine right off the bat. Let's imagine best case scenario for these two (three) just this once. ;)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! Please feel free to drop a comment, and a prompt if you'd like :)


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